


Home

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laundry and kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

It's been three weeks since Castiel found Dean and Sam.  Three weeks of sleeping in a safe bed, three weeks of home-cooked meals, three weeks of Dean and Sam refusing to let Castiel do anything to help out around the bunker.  He sees pity when they think he's not looking; pity and guilt and the brothers treating him as though he will break if they're not gentle.

He hates it.  He may be human, but he's no more fragile than any other human.  He's probably less so.  He survived falling from Heaven and being thrown into a completely different reality.  He survived long enough to make it home to the Winchesters.  Convincing Dean that he's not fragile is another matter entirely.

"I'll do the laundry while you're out," he tells Dean finally, three weeks to the day after arriving, his tone brooking no argument.

"No, Cas.  We're in a hurry and I don't have time to show you how.  Just leave it."  Dean smiles to soften the hasty words and reaches out to touch Castiel's shoulder gently.  "Relax and read a book or something.  We'll be back in a couple of hours with a fresh supply of beer and Sam's organic apples and maybe I'll show you how, then."

Castiel feels his eyes narrow and his mouth tighten into a thin line, but he doesn't argue.  He shrugs.  As soon as Sam and Dean are safely away Castiel rolls his eyes, mutters under his breath, and makes his way to the neat little laundry room.  He's quick in sorting the clothes - a skill he learned after he made a mess of his own clothes the first time and a nice lady in the laundromat explained how to avoid doing that again.

He starts a load of whites and busies himself with tidying his already tidy room and the library.  He's got an uncanny sense of time left over in his head full of things normal humans can't fathom and he's standing in front of the washer ten seconds before it stops, waiting patiently for it.  He hums under his breath; a catchy song Dean is particularly fond of, something about highways, he thinks.

He adds extra fabric softener to the dryer since Dean never uses enough, diligently cleans the lint trap - a skill he learned when he visited the nice people at the homeless shelter and helped them in return for clean clothes, a hot meal, and a bed for the night.  When the familiar rumble of the dryer starts up, he turns his attention back to the washer to start a second load.

He does read, then, a book he saw Sam put away just yesterday.  It's a dog-eared copy of a demonology text.  He reads with great interest, adding to his already vast collection of knowledge about demons where he can and trying to ignore blatant inaccuracies where he finds them.  The little timer that resides in the back of his head goes off and he puts the book down on the table and returns to the laundry room.

The dryer stops a few seconds later.  He smiles to himself, proud as always of this particular skill, and starts to fold underwear and undershirts, towels and sheets.  He's humming under his breath again, finally feeling useful for the first time in weeks, when he hears the scuff of Dean's approaching boots.

"I told you not to worry about it," Dean says from the doorway.

"I'm perfectly capable of helping," Castiel replies without turning around.  He continues to pull the clothing from the dryer one piece at a time and fold it carefully.

"Did you separate by color?"  Dean challenges.

"Yes."

"Did you remember to use soap and fabric softener?"

Castiel finishes folding the shirt he's holding and stacks it atop the others before he turns around.  When he does, Dean is watching him with a little smirk.  It's the most infuriating thing Castiel has ever seen.  He closes the short distance between them, leaning up until his nose is almost touching Dean's.

Dean's eyes widen with the sudden proximity of Castiel's body and he tries to step back, backing himself against the door frame instead.  Castiel says nothing, just repositions himself nose-to-nose.  Dean drops his gaze away from Castiel's, looking at his lips, then raises his eyes once more.

"Stop treating me like I'm a baby, Dean.  I need to  _help_  or I feel  _helpless_."

"Cas.."  Dean's voice is a warm, rasped breath across Castiel's lips and Castiel shivers at the sensation.  He watches as Dean's pupils grow until they almost swallow the green of his eyes and then Dean's palm is pressed gently to his jaw, thumb tracing the sweep of his cheekbone.  Dean swallows, a sound Castiel barely hears over the pounding of his own heart, and murmurs, "I didn't know.  I'm sorry."

It's the balm Castiel's wounded pride needs and he leans forward on a whim to press his lips to Dean's.  He's tentative, his body nearly vibrating with nervous energy.  Dean's lips are soft and there's a small whoosh of a sigh before they part under Castiel's chaste kiss. 

Give and take, soft kisses are passed back and forth between them until Castiel's hand finds Dean's hip and he leans closer.  He doesn't stop  until his chest is against Dean's and he can feel the matching thunder of his heart.  It's an odd sensation, but not unwelcome.  Dean's soft gasp tells him the feeling is mutual.

Dean's fingers tighten on Castiel's face, pulling him closer as their tongues touch for the first time.  An electric spark jolts down Castiel's spine and settles like a hot coal in the pit of his stomach as Dean's gentle pressure on his jaw reorients their mouths for better kisses.  Dean's tongue sweeps across Castiel's bottom lip, tasting, before retreating to allow Castiel to do the same in return.

The give and take continues as Castiel presses Dean into the door frame, lips pressed between shallow breaths, tasting and being tasted.  Castiel follows Dean's lead in each new movement, cataloguing what makes Dean's breath hitch and what causes the soft almost-sounds he makes.  Castiel is especially pleased by the growl he gets when nibbles at Dean's lips.  Dean's fingers slip to the back of Castiel's neck, thread into the curls at the base of his skull.

He pulls Castiel headlong into a deep kiss and Castiel feels his body practically melting against Dean's.  He slips his hand under the hem of Dean's shirt as their tongues press and twist together and he gets a full, glorious taste of Dean's spearmint-gum-and-beer flavor.  He groans and Dean takes it, gives a growl in return without ever breaking the kiss.  It's wild and new and Castiel's blood surges hot through his veins with every unfamiliar sensation.

Castiel's fingers tighten against Dean's bare waist as Dean's other hand moves to his face.  When Dean holds him there, licking and biting at his lips, cupping his face so tenderly as their bodies mold together, Castiel feels like he must be the very oxygen Dean needs to survive.  When Castiel finally pulls away, lightheaded with the need for a deep breath, his knees feel as though they will surely buckle.

Dean is watching him again, framing his face with both hands now as their noses almost touch and their ragged breath mixes between their lips.  Castiel recognizes the the searching-for-a-sign-please-tell-me-we're-okay-now look and he leans his forehead against Dean's and smiles.  His hand trembles when he raises it to touch Dean's face, soft and reverent and sweaty-palmed.  He closes his eyes and presses another soft kiss to Dean's lips in silent answer.


End file.
